


Sing Me Something

by Iron Wine (Alphabetaomega)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Derek stories:D, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I make scott out to be a bad person in the beggining, M/M, MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: Cutting, Oblivious Scott!, Redemption, Redemption Scott, Relapsing, Romance, Self Harm, Summer, but he has his own redemption in Stiles's eyes, getting over it, self harm addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabetaomega/pseuds/Iron%20Wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm doing alright," he lies smoothly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Me Something

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my amazing beta:)

Stiles isn’t sure when he started drifting into the emotional danger zone; he just knows that he has drifted and he can’t bring himself to care. He rationalizes that his recent decline is due to stress, school work, lack of proper sleep, Adderall side effects… and maybe Scott. Definitely Scott. Accept it’s not Scott’s fault… sort of.

It’s been a few months since his run in with Gerard Argent, and there hasn’t been any supernatural activity since. Normally, Stiles would leap with joy at not having to deal with things that go bump in the night. Yet, it remains that Erica and Boyd, his friends, are still missing, and the Alpha pack lingers somewhere in the town.

The Adderall he takes daily to help subdue his ADHD usually helps to keep him awake, get him motivated, and help him remember certain things he has to get done. Stiles understands that the medication helps his focus, but as far as the boost of energy it gives him, all he knows is that his medication  acts like a shot of caffeine to his system, which is why he avoids coffee. His medication makes him shaky and shivery enough; he doesn’t need any caffeine to add to it.

Sadly, his dose hasn’t been working lately. He can feel the bags forming under his eyes and see the exhaustion settling in the lines near his mouth.

Stiles looks over at the calendar hanging near the digital clock. One month of school left. One month. He can make it. Maybe.

He nudges Scott to get the boy’s attention, and lets him know that he’s going to doodle a cat on the top of the werewolf’s notebook paper. Stiles starts off drawing a square to represent the feline’s body and goes from there. He puts his pen down and looks smugly over at Scott.

Scott grins at him and raises his eyebrows. He checks to see if their teacher is looking before he quietly says, “Did you take your medication today?”

The other teen’s smile immediately vanishes and is replaced with an agitated frown, because maybe he just wanted to doodle a cat on the top of Scott’s paper?! Is he normally so bland on his medication that doodling cats is considered out of character for him? He doesn’t like when other people ask if he’s forgotten to take his dose, because it makes him feel a bit dumb.

“No, I took it.” Stiles lies, because he totally forgot this morning. Shit happens.

He doesn’t mind his conscious lack of focus because he thinks that an Adderall break is well over-due.

Stiles pulls out his planner and begins writing down things that he needs to remember to do when he gets home. The reminders include calling his workplace, calling the hospital about his summer internship, cleaning his room, and preparing for final semester exams. He figures that he’ll get at least half of one of these things done tonight before he decides that he can just do it later and goes on the computer instead.

When the school bell rings, Stiles still has his planner out on the desk. By the time he’s got his stuff together, Scott has already left the room with Isaac.

Stiles rolls his eyes and tells himself to get over it. He should be used to Scott’s lack of concern as of late. After six years of sticking to one another like co-dependent glue molecules, he’d think that Scott wouldn’t let another person come completely between them. Though, he did completely backseat Stiles to Allison.

Not to mention, Isaac isn’t just any person, he’s a werewolf. That means that he and Scott have something in common that Stiles will never understand, and that something is screwing up Stiles’s friendship with Scott.

Stiles catches up with the two werewolves just in time to listen to the tail end of their Friday night plans. Plans which don’t include him.

“So, we should go to that record shop downtown and see if they have it and then to my place.” Even though his attention is on Isaac, Scott moves over so that Stiles can walk beside him.

“Sounds good, they should have it and if not we can probably get it online.” Isaac replies.

Stiles knows that they’re getting ready to go to a big concert somewhere a few hours away. They haven’t really shut up about it since they bought the tickets. Stiles isn’t going to lie, he doesn’t have any desire to go, but even if he had wanted to go they didn’t invite him. Well, they did invite him, but it was one of those awkward and politely forced invitations, because they had been talking about it over and over in front of his face.

Scott is allowed to have interests and things that he doesn’t share with Stiles. But when he starts being an oblivious werebag, Stiles feels a bit justified in his anger. 

On the way to the cafeteria Stiles pulls out his cell phone and sends his dad a quick text,

Stiles: Love you                                                   

He feels guilty about taking his father’s heart attack of a breakfast burrito away from him and replacing it with cheerios. He also feels bad about the insane amounts of lying he’s been forced to take part in, and he knows that his father’s trust is wearing thin.

When his phone vibrates in his hand, he’s a little surprised, because his father is not that tech savvy and usually takes a while to respond.

Dad: Love u too kid, but what the hell is on my computer!? When u get home pls take it off. It’s my work computer, don’t touch my things please, we both know that never ends well. u have ur own laptop. Clean ur room also.

Stiles: Ill clean it when I get home

Dad: Okay

Stiles puts his cell phone away and fights down the uneasy feeling pooling in his gut, thinking to himself how he really needs to start getting his shit together.

"Oh shit," Scott says, suddenly freezing in place.

Stiles freezes immediately as well, hands in front of him defensively, "Wha-What is something wrong?"

"I forgot to get my report from Mrs. K."

"Get it tomorrow," Isaac offers.

Scott groans, "No my mom has been asking me about it for a while now. I'm sorry, could you guys wait for me?" He says hesitantly, "I'll be quick."

"Sure, it's not like we're going to leave without you," Stiles says and genuinely means it.

Amused, Isaac adds, "You don't even have to ask."

Stiles wholeheartedly agrees, though the next thought that crosses his mind leaves a bitter taste in his throat. His conscience dryly comments on how if he were the one who forgot something, Scott would not have waited for him, because he would be too busy jabbering to Isaac about their concert.

Lunch doesn’t do any wonders for his mood either. He sits with Lydia, Jackson, Allison, Scott, and Isaac. Jackson talks the whole time about how he’s moving to London when the summer ends, and Stiles steals a glance at Lydia whom twists her strawberry colored curls between her fingers.

Every once in a while he joins in the conversation, but it’s mostly werewolf talk. Stiles can only relate to so much werewolf talk. They’re talking about the full moon in a couple days when Scott invites Isaac over to his place.

“Whoa, buddy, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I think that Isaac probably has a better handle on his wolf during a full moon than you do.” Stiles nudges Scott’s elbow.

Scott raises an eyebrow, “How would you know?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know… you could call it instinct, or are you forgetting the part where you tried to kill me!? Multiple times. You tried to kill me multiple times.”

“I’ve gotten better.” Scott argues.

“Yeah, you have, but… two teenage wolves together on a full moon.” Stiles gives Scott a knowing look. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea, man.”

“Stiles is right,” Isaac chimes in, “It’s not a good idea, besides Derek will want me within arms reach.”

Scott nods and sighs, “I hate full moons.”

“Don’t we all?” Says Stiles sarcastically.

When lunch is over, Stiles walks to chemistry with Scott. Mr. Harris gives them a look of indifference before handing out a pop quiz that Stiles undoubtedly fails.

By the end of the day, Stiles is back to feeling exhausted. During his last period, he lets his thoughts stray to the darker corners of his mind.

Admittedly, he’s been having suicidal thoughts for a while now, but he’s convinced that he’ll never act on them. He honestly doesn’t think it’s a big deal that once in a while he dreams up a few funeral scenarios. Things are bad, but they won’t get that bad. Besides, he’s pretty confident about his future… sometimes. Other times Stiles just feels like he’s stuck in a rut. Today is proving to be one of those rut days.

Stiles drums his fingers on his desk as he thinks, and he wonders if Scott can smell the drastic change on him. If he can, then he’s doing a shit job expressing any sort of concern. Stiles is willing to give Scott the benefit of the doubt, and settle that his friend has noticed and is just choosing to give Stiles some space. Little does he know that space is the last thing Stiles wants.

Stiles curses himself for feeling this way, because he knows that he should talk to Scott about it, but how the hell is he suppose to let Scott in on what he’s feeling if he doesn’t even understand it himself?

When the bell rings, Stiles turns to Scott and groans under his breath about how Mr. Harris, “might as well be Satan.”

Up until recently, Stiles and Scott had a routine where they would stand by Scott’s locker and talk a bit before Scott had to go and catch his bus. Today, Stiles just grabs some of his books out of the metal hell hole that is his locker, hovers a bit, and then decides to just leave.

He turns on his heel and starts walking backwards “See you later, man!” Stiles calls to Scott before adding, “Bye Isaac!”

Isaac looks surprised, but regardless gives Stiles a shy wave.

 “You in a hurry?” Scott calls to him.

Stiles shrugs and rubs his eyes, “Really freakin’ tired, you know?”

“Yeah, I totally understand.” He adds a little louder, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” Scott smiles fondly at Stiles’s retreating form and Stiles smiles back.

His muscles uncoil with relief, because there is nothing like the feeling of leaving school after a particularly off-balance day. His car is hotter than a sauna from sitting in the sun all day, but Stiles doesn’t really give a shit. He hops in his jeep and immediately feels his shoulders relax, because school is over for the day.

Sometime between leaving Beacon Hills High School and pulling onto his street, Stiles’s mood curves downwards. His Ipod seems to only want to play slow songs with piano in them, and when Stiles goes to change the playlist he doesn’t realize that a school bus coming the opposite way from him has stopped and has its sign out. The blaring noise from the horn jolts Stiles enough for him to look up and slam onto his brakes. He lets out an annoyed groan, because the bus driver is looking at him like he ran someone over. He rolls his eyes and fights down the sheer embarrassment that creeps along his neck.

A little kid jumps off the bus and runs across the street. The boy’s mother walks out in front of Stiles’s jeep like she’s protecting her son from Stiles’s reckless driving.

The little kid is wide-eyed and smiling when he gets to her. He immediately clings to her legs, scrunching the fabric of her skirt in his small hands.

Since they’re right in front of his car, Stiles sees them through his windshield and since his window is down and he dropped his Ipod when he hit his brakes, he can hear them too.

The woman looks down at her son and smiles, “Hey big guy, how was your day?”

“It was really fun, there was a fire drill and we all had to go outside and I missed my math class!” he replies enthusiastically.

His mother runs her fingers through his messy hair and takes hold of one of his hands, “Sounds great, you can tell me all about it when we get home, okay?”

The small boy nods and lets his mother lead him back to the other side of the road where their car waits. Stiles starts driving only after the bus has left. The rest of the way home he thinks about his mom. Nothing in particular, just that she was a big part of his life that he no longer has. He just thinks about her. And eventually, he starts thinking about his dad too, which reminds him of the hallucinations he had at Lydia’s birthday party. Things go downhill from there.

The rest of the way home can’t help the anger swirling beneath his skin. He thinks about how his reasons for being angry are a bit stupid and how he shouldn’t be sad, but he is. He’s been sad for awhile and there hasn’t been anything that he can do that’s made it better. Logically, he knows that he shouldn’t be so bothered by Scott being with Isaac all the time, but he is because it means that he’s being pushed aside.

 

Stiles can’t really remember the last time he was genuinely happy. He just knows now that the only thing that’s keeping him going is his dad’s birthday in the middle of the summer.

 

His dad.

 

Stiles sighs and pulls into his driveway. His father’s car isn’t there meaning he must have a late shift at the station.

“Awesome, at least one thing is turning out alright today.” He says sarcastically to himself, because Stiles doesn’t want to be around anybody right now.

He doesn’t know whether to be relieved, or nervous that his father isn’t home. On the one hand, no Sheriff means nobody is around to stop Stiles from going to his basement and puttering around all the sharp house tools. On the other hand, he isn’t even sure if having his dad at home would stop him in the first place.

Either way, he shuts off his baby blue jeep, and sighs. His cell phone’s black screen glares at him from his dashboard. There was once a time where he and Scott would text every single week without fail. They would talk about the stupidest things like movies and television shows. They would text in all capital letters for, “emphasis” as Stiles put it. Those days are gone for the most part.

Stiles shuts the door behind him with a shove from his shoulder. He doesn’t even bother to take his backpack off of his shoulders before heading straight to his basement.

His father is a good man, which is why he’s the Sheriff of the entire town. Being a part of the task force means that he sees, hears, and understands some of the horrible things that some people choose to turn a blind eye too. Sheriff Stilinski never once kept guns in their house, even when Stiles was too young to walk, because he knows that accidents can and do happen.

In all Stiles’s 17 years, he’s never seen his father’s gun just lying around like it’s no big deal, and he’s done plenty of Christmas present snooping to know that there’s no spare gun or safe in his house.

Sheriff never let Stiles walk home from the bus stop alone, or go anywhere alone for that matter. Scott had always been joined at the hip whenever he went anywhere.

Despite being the most vigilant parent that Stiles knows, there are some things that his dad forgets and misses. For instance, he never really forbade Stiles to drink alcohol and he never monitored Stiles’s internet activity.

He did hide the razor blades.

Stiles flicks on the light switch next to him and grimaces at his basement. Nothing creeps him out more than his basement, which really is saying something considering not too long ago, the captain of his lacrosse team turned into a giant murderous reptile.

He takes a deep breath and ponders a bit. When he was younger, things had gotten pretty bad for him. His teachers were constantly sending him to the principal’s office, his friends picked on him for his scrawny frame and upturned nose, his doctor was switching and adjusting his ADHD medication constantly, and he always felt like a disappointment.

So one day while he was taking a bath, using just the blunt tips of his nails, he scratched off a few layers of skin from his wrist. He regretted it later, because the skin was raw and pink for two weeks, and stung like a fucker whenever it touched anything, even the large band aid. He hid the band aid and the scratches pretty well until one day his father walked in on him changing his shirt, skinny arms exposed.

“Where’d you get that, bud?” Sheriff had said softly from the doorway. His eyebrows pulled together in the middle, lines of worry formed across his forehead.

“What?” Stiles asks a little too quickly, twisting on his clean shirt in a way that would hide his wrist.

His dad made a few garbled noises, “Let me see,” he cooed, leaving no room for argument.

Stiles shrugged and tugged his shirt on the rest of the way. Sauntering over to his dad, he thrust his skinny arm in his direction.

“It’s just road rash, dad.” He met his father’s eyes once, before quickly looking away. “I was playing with Scott at school and I fell.”

Sheriff didn’t say anything back that would acknowledge his son’s lie. Taking Stiles’s hand in his own, he inspected the ‘rash’ before dragging the boy to the bathroom to properly clean and bandage it.

Stiles hadn’t known it at the time, but later that day his father hid the silver interchangeable razor blades from their spot in the basement cabinet. He would only find out that they were missing a few years later when he started having panic attacks and went looking.

It’s been a while since then though, almost six years without any incident and his father’s memory isn’t photographic or anything; So Stiles isn’t surprised when he does a little digging, and pulls a very small box of razor blades from the bottom of an old tool box.

To be fair, Stiles never let on that something was truly bothering him. Sheriff believed him about the road rash, and when Stiles started having panic attacks he never outright asked his father where he had hidden the blades.

His nimble fingers work the flap of the small box easily. He pulls out one of the blades without much thought, closes up the box, and arranges everything to look untouched. With the razor in his hand, Stiles makes his way back up to the first floor of his house.

The fridge is a disappointment. There isn’t anything inside of it accept for leftovers which Stiles doesn’t really want. He wants snacks, but seeing as there are no snacks, he settles for a juice box instead.

He still has his backpack on his shoulders when he gets into his room, and only places the razor blade down to take the pack off.

He knows that he has stuff to do. Homework and stuff, but let’s face it; Stiles never really does his homework at home anyway.

Stiles plugs his Ipod into its dock and hits the “play” button. He changes the song a few times before settling on a song he can tolerate. He relocates the razor blade a few minutes later, having forgotten where he put it down. Stiles tells himself that he’s not going to go crazy, just one or two small, shallow cuts, and that this is the first and last time he’ll resort to self harming.

He goes to his bathroom just across the hall. The leftover sunlight dwindles in through the glass window. It’s not enough to light up the whole room, but Stiles doesn’t bother flicking the light switch. Stiles closes the bathroom door behind him and slides down against it.

He’s in control of his emotions enough to hold himself back, but he’s not thinking his actions through. He doesn’t want to think anything through. This is what he’s going to do and there’s little to nothing that can derail him right now.

The air around him is quiet. The only sound comes from his Ipod dock across the hall, but even that reaches his ears muted because of the heavy bathroom door.

He rolls up his sweatshirt sleeve and presses the blade to the inside of his upper forearm. It’s not enough pressure to break the skin or leave a mark. Stiles continues to press and press though, pleased by the way his heart beats faster at the thought of breaking skin. His freckled and peppered skin sings when he finally pushes down and drags the razor across it. Fascinatingly, he can feel the blades silver edge pulling on the skin it’s spitting apart, like it’s so clean and sharp it can’t help but create a slice so thin that the two sides suction and rub back to the blade.

Stiles doesn’t ease up until his nose is running and he’s on the verge of quiet tears. He doesn’t ease up until the blood bubbles up from the cut, and he can no longer see where the blade is going.

There’s no denying how it stings, but the pain isn’t completely winding or anything. The tears in his eyes confuse him. He’s been in way more pain than this and not cried, so why would he be crying now?

He makes two more lines much further down his arm, on his hand. They’re much smaller in length and rest on the top of his hand below his pinky. Stiles sits back and sighs with the razor held delicately between two fingers. The blood on the edge of the paper thin blade as well as the blood that dots his arm has already begun to coagulate.

By the time he decides to get up, the sun has begun to set. Stiles is about to put the razor somewhere his dad won’t stumble across when he pauses. The red on his arm stares accusingly at him from his image in the mirror. He places the blade back against his skin and thinks about it, before stopping.

At that same moment, his cell phone vibrates. The plastic rattles against Stiles’s bathroom countertop until he picks it up. He stares at the text message for a second, a little dumbfounded as to how to reply. He holds the razor blade between his pointer and middle finger as he types back his reply.

Derek: I need your help.

Stiles: Since when did Derek Hale ask for help? And how about a please, wolf boy.

Derek: Please.

Stiles: Okay… is the world ending or did I miss something? Somehow I am not surprised that I’m the only one who wasn’t informed about the start of the apocalypse.

Derek: What are you talking about? Are you home?

Stiles: You actually said please, that’s what I’m talking about, and yes I am.

Derek: I’ll be there in 10, open your window.

Stiles frowns at his phone and quickly washes his arm. He feels lighter somehow. His exhaustion is still there, dragging on his bones like wet noodles, but he feels lighter. Stiles kicks random articles of clothing under his bed hastily as he makes his way to his window. The latch is a bit stuck, so it’s a couple minutes before he gets the window all the way open.

The breeze rolls in a steady wave that’s refreshing and pricks at his exposed skin. There isn’t much time so Stiles decides to just tape the still wet razor to the wall behind his dresser. He hopes to god that Derek can’t smell anything wrong with him, because that would just be awkward. He feels pretty calm though, and when he hears Derek grabbing onto his windowsill, there isn’t  an ounce of panic in his veins.

Stiles rolls his sleeves down, turning just in time to see Derek lift himself into his window. “Before I get dragged into something that could potentially harm my well being and maim or harm me permanently for life, I just want to remind you that I am fragile, and there are only so many bestiaries for me to dig through in Beacon Hills.”

Derek’s only response is a frown. He takes a step into Stiles’s room and then pauses. With a bewildered look on his face he says, “I know that.”

“Okay, then I hope whatever it is you want my help with, isn’t going to kill me.”

“It won’t,” Derek says sternly. “I need help finding the alpha pack. Isaac and Peter-,”

“Whoa, whoa, buddy. Let’s back it up here, Peter? No offense but the dude skeeves me out. The whole, ‘resurrection’ thing, yeah, not cool.”

Derek sighs heavily, not bothering to hide his eye roll from the teen. “Yes, Isaac and Peter are helping me locate Erica and Boyd.”

“Any luck?”

“No,” Derek supplies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why I’m asking you for help. We’ve hit a dead end.”

“Okay, well do you have anything for me to go on?”

“A few maps and charts, but that’s about it. We’re positive that Erica and Boyd are at least still alive.”

Stiles makes a face, “How do you know?”

Derek shrugs. In reality, he doesn’t really know if Erica and Boyd are alive or not, but he likes to think they are. It makes him feel like less of a disappointment.

Stiles takes a deep breath, “Okay, well… my dad will be home soon and I don’t think he’ll like seeing you in my bedroom, so why don’t you go back to whichever cave you came out of, and get all of the information you have together. I’ll come over tomorrow after school?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” Derek reminds him.

“Oh yeah, thank the lord,” he says offhandedly. “I don’t think I have ever been so grateful that the weekend is here.” Stiles taps his fingers on his thighs distractingly, failing to catch the way Derek’s eyes trail the movement. “Okay… uh let me just get my backpack and we can-,”

Derek doesn’t respond right away, which causes Stiles to raise his eyebrows in question. Finally the werewolf replies, “No, it’s fine. We can start tomorrow or something.”

“Wha- I mean, are you sure? I could just, like grab my stuff and we can start.”

Derek shakes his head, “No, really it’s fine. I don’t need to have heightened senses to see that you’re exhausted. Just come by tomorrow and we can start.”

“Well, okay,” Stiles offers, but Derek is already halfway out the window before the words even leave his mouth. When Derek is gone Stiles flops down on his bed and buries his hands under his pillow.

Despite what he’s thought about the sour wolf in the past, as of late Stiles has noticed a different side of Derek. A kinder and less irritable side. Stiles would even go so far as to say that Derek’s become more approachable.

It doesn’t take long for his thoughts to drift back to what he was just doing, moments before Derek’s arrival. From its hiding position, strategically placed behind his dresser, the blade sings to him. Its high-pitched whisper is soft, but as sharp as the edge the song comes from. Stiles is tempted to roll off his bed and retrieve it, but he doesn’t.

Before, he was too preoccupied with the werewolf in his room to notice the throbbing under his skin. The shallow slivers on his skin, red as the bleeding sunset, ache lightly. Stiles thumbs at the longest one, located on the side of his wrist. The mark is thin and red, and Stiles now realizes it will be a little hard to hide in the summer heat. Layers, he figures he’ll just wear layers.

He inspects the damage he’s done, this time in a discerning manner. The cuts on his hand will be much harder to hide since he can’t go around wearing gloves. Luckily, they’re small enough to pass for any old scratch, but unfortunately they’re placed far enough apart to look purposeful and not accident caused.

Stiles rolls over onto his back. Looking up at his ceiling he mutters to himself, “It was just a onetime thing.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, his resolve weakens. “It’s just a onetime thing, shit will get better. Besides, I don’t want scars.” His words hang in the air in front of him, and dance along to the razor blade’s tempting song. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're going to comment and tell me how OOC everyone is, please keep in mind that this is an AU and I can do with it what I please.  
> Since this is a touchy subject that I'm writing about... if you're going to give me negative feedback I'd rather not hear it, thank you!
> 
> SCOTT GETS BETTER, DON'T WORRY. 
> 
> My Sterek/teen wolf tumblr is  
> Alphafangs.tumblr.com  
> I am always here to talk:)


End file.
